Progression
by Xirysa
Summary: FE7 He was not always a demon. Part I.


**Xirysa Says:** Karel wasn't _always_ a homicidal maniac, was he? I don't think so. Even though there have been a ton of these out there, I decided that I'd go ahead and do one, too. So sue me for lack of creativity. I don't really care. Some artistic license taken here and there, but other than that... Yeah. It's going to be uploaded in parts, alright? I don't know how often I'll update, but I'll try and be prompt with it.

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Progression  
Part I

He was four years old and waiting with his brothers and sister at the door to their parents' room. Their father stood sternly behind them, but their mother smiled and beckoned to her children to join her on the bed. Hands scarmbled and legs tangled and soon five more bodies were sprawled on the bed.

Five pairs of eager eyes watched as their mother shifted the bundle in her arms and adjusted the cloth that surrounded it. His breath caught in his throat as their mother revealed her latest treasure.

The cloth fell away to reveal a small pale face, still and peaceful in sleep. He felt a tug on his foot and laughed quietly as his eldest brother tickled it.

His youngest brother asked their mother what the baby's names was, and all five of them leaned forward eagerly.

Their mother chuckled quietly. "Her name is Karla."

He smiled.

He was four years old.

-x-x-x-

He was five years old and helping his mother to make supper. She smiled when he placed his hands on her swollen abdomen and laughed when he felt a kick.

Her laughter was cut short by a groan, and he looked up at her with a confused expression on his face. She held her belly and leaned against the wall for support before speaking. She sounded so very out of breath...

"Go... Go get your father, Karel. Tell him to... Tell him to hurry... It's come too soon."

He nodded and left at once.

The rest of the day was a blur; it was nightfall, and he and his brothers sat in the room they shared while his older sister stood outside the door with Karla in her arms.

He started when a scream pierced the darkness. He looked at his eldest brother questioningly. His next-eldest brother stood up.

"Stay here--I'll go see what it is." He didn't get far.

Their sister entered the room with a grim expression on her face. "Mother lost the baby."

He was five years old.

-x-x-x-

He was seven years old, standing in front of his father while trying hard not to cry.

He didn't know what he had done wrong.

He had been admiring the Wo Dao when it had fallen from its peg on the wall; because he could not yet reach high enough to put it back in its proper place, he had been setting it on the table when his father arrived.

To say that his father had been mad may have been an understatement--he was _livid_. He stifled a sob as felt the flat of the blade connect with flesh of his back.

"Stupid child!" his father hissd as he raised his arm to strike again. "How can I protect the sword against fools when my own son doesn't know anything about the sword?"

One final lash and a kick to the stomach sent him to the ground. "Weak," his father spat as he left him in the dust. "Pathetic."

It was then, as he lay bleeding and bruised in the hot dirt, that he decided he alone would wield the Wo Dao.

_And I'll kill everyone who tries to stop me._

He was seven years old.

-x-x-x-

He was eight years old and making his way through the endless ocean of grass. It was almost nightfall, but he had to find something before he headed home.

Despite the small amount of daylight that was left, he made out a small, dark mass a few feet away from him that shivered from time to time. He smiled and made his way over to it.

When he reached it, he knelt down and placed a hand on it and gently shook it. "Karla," he whispered. "Karla, get up."

She looked up at him, her eyes swollen and her face stained with tears. "Brother?" she asked hesitantly, as if his appearance was too good to be true.

He smiled again. "Silly girl."

Her face broke out into a huge grin. "Brother!" She stood up and flung herself at him, but he caught her and set her down.

"Get on my back, Karla," he said as he turned and knelt down. "I'll carry you home."

She looked surprised for a moment, but did as she was told. Soon they were on their way home, swimming through an ocean of grass.

"Mm... Your back is so warm, brother..." she mumbled as she drifted off to sleep.

He seemed surprised for a moment, but smiled in turn. "Thank you, Karla."

He was eight years old.

-x-x-x-

He was nine years old and crouching quietly in the long grass of the plains. A few paces away, a plainsdeer nipped at the grass, looking up from time to time in order to check for any potential danger.

He ran his hand over the keen edge of the dagger he held and inched closer.

The deer tensed up and looked around before deciding there was no danger and resuming eating the grass. He smiled and edged closer. He was glad he had hidden downwind.

Soon, he was directly behind the deer. He raised his arm and drove it into the animal's back, stabbing through skin and muscle before finally connecting with the backbone. It snapped, and the deer flopped to the ground, paralyzed. It looked at him, eyes wide and crazed with fear, as he brought his blade to its throat and slit the large vein that carried its life blood.

The deer died instantly.

His eyebrows knit together in concentration as he made the gash bigger and turned the animal over to allow the blood to drain out. He marveled at the way its lifeblood flowed, thick and red, out of the corpse, over his hands, and onto the parched earth, which greedily absorbed it. It was hot, he realized, but it was not unpleasant.

Something about the blood called out to him, and he wasn't entirely sure what it was.

He was nine years old.

-x-x-x-

He was ten years old and standing under the hot sun with his siblings as his father buried the body of their mother. She had fallen ill from a mysterious disease and had wasted away.

The day seemed ironically nice for such a sad event, he thought as he looked up at the clear blue of the sky. It seemed to mock their grief.

He looked at his brothers and sisters, who stared blankly at the grave as silent tears glistened on their cheeks. He raised his hand to his own cheeks, and was surprised when he saw that there weren't any tears there.

He was the only one who was not crying, and his father noticed.

He was ten years old.

-x-x-x-

He was thirteen years old and sitting in front of his mother's grave. Grass and weeds had begun to cover the mound of earth, but he made no move to remove them.

He liked to come out here and imagine that he was talking to her. He could almost see her sitting across from him, her long hair flowing in the wind and her dark eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun.

"I'm going to leave soon," he told her.

She didn't seem surpried. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yes," he said as he fiddled with a blade of grass. "I am."

"And when do you plan on leaving?" she asked him, her voice containing a hint of maternal concern.

"Soon."

The answer did not seem to satisfy her. "How soon?"

He tore the piece of grass in two. "Soon enough." It was evident he would say no more on the matter.

She sighed and looked at him. All was silent until she spoke a few moments later. "Why?"

Confused, he looked at her. "What?"

"Why are you leaving?"

He looked away and tugged at a piece of his hair--something he only did when he was nervous or upset--and mumbled something under his breath.

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

He spoke louder this time, but did not look at her again. "I don't belong here."

"I see." She reached forward to touch his knee comfortingly, but he jerked away from her touch. She smiled sadly and pulled away. "Everyone belongs somewhere, Karel..."

He focused on a particularly dried-out piece of grass; he didn't think he could look at her at the moment. "I don't."

"Yes, yes you do."

"No." He glared at her out of the corner of his eye for a moment before looking away.

She sighed. "Alright. I won't push you. Just... Come see me before you go."

He looked up quickly to answer, only to find that he was alone. He stood up and looked down at the grave, wondering if the conversation had really taken place before turning and walking back home.

He was thirteen years old.

-x-x-x-

He was fourteen years old and stuffing food into an old sack he had found. There was no moon tonight--he planned to leave under the cover of darkness. He was now the eldest child at home; one of his older brothers had left to seek his fortune as a mercenary, one had succumbed to the same sickness that had taken their mother, and his older sister had gotten married.

No one would miss him, he was sure of it.

He tied the mouth of the sack to close it and hefted it over one shoulder. The slim sword he usually carried with him was no longer tied to his belt--he wanted to take a different weapon with him.

Padding to the wall on which the Wo Dao hung, he stopped and stared at the sword for a moment. This... This was it. He would take the sword and leave to become the greatest swordmaster ever known. All would fear his name. Karel, Master of the Wo Dao!

Lifting the sword from its place and holding it in his hand, he was awed.. It seemed as if it was made for him, he thought as he extended his arm. Perfect.

He looked through the small window and blinked. He had wasted too much time here. He needed to leave.

He walked outside, to where his horse was tethered, and swung himself into the saddle. If he rode hard, he could make it to a trading city within a few days. He paused, trying to remember if he forgot anything.

Ah... Of course. How could he forget? He turned his steed to the west and trotted to where his mother's grave was.

When he reached it, he looked down and flashed a small smile.

"Goodbye, Mother."

She smiled at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Goodbye, Karel."

He turned his horse around and rode off into the night, unaware of another voice that quietly whispered "Goodbye, brother," from the doorway of their home.

He was fourteen years old.

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**Xirysa Says:** Karel's interesting, too. I tried to make his... Madness (for lack of a better term) seem somewhat progressive, and then like... Somewhat fade away. Hallucinations? Yes, he hallucinates. Perhaps I'm being stereotypical, but isn't it a sign of madness? Anyway, I implore you to review with critique and feedback! Or general comments in general, actually. Either way, reviews of any kind work. (Except for flames. Yes, flames are very bad...)


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